Hidden Faces
by BlackBlood1872
Summary: Sequel of Lookalike / When Ben wakes up, all he can see is blood. Blood on the ground, on the Rust Bucket, on his clothes. The police come, he's moved to the picnic table nearby, and he manages to tell them his name. But that's all he can do, and the world around him narrows until all he hears is buzzing and all he can see is red


_AU after episode 41 of Ben 10 (OS) / Somewhere in Season 2 of Grimm (Hank knows, Juliette doesn't remember Nick, etc. Set here because I haven't seen any further than that xD)  
So this is unexpected, but now Lookalike is the first of 3 stories. This one is kind of just a "if these two characters met" thing. But also aftermath. I don't know. Continue on, you don't need to listen to me._

* * *

It was nearing the end of their shift, and Nick was just beginning to close down his computer when one of the phones on their table rang.

"Griffin," Hank said, and after a few minutes, nodded. "We're on our way," he responded and hung up. He stood and pulled his coat off his chair, already walking and Nick rushed to follow him. "Crime scene at the Lost Lake Campground," Hank reported, and turned to catch Nick's eye, "and we have a survivor."

* * *

"What have we got?" Hank asked once they'd joined Sergeant Wu at the crime scene. The man grimaced.

"Two victims, a man and a young girl. They're pretty torn up and, well, you can see what it looks like."

They ducked under the police tape, and caught sight of the motorhome in the lot. It liked old and well used, rusted in some places but recently fixed in others. The most distinctive feature, however, was the blood on the door and the wall beside it, as well as on the grass. There was a man laying on the ground at the foot of the door, positioned like he'd fallen out of the trailer, but his wounds suggested another cause of death.

Falling didn't tear open your neck, after all.

Nick couldn't see too far into the trailer from where he stood, but he saw more blood, and a hint of thin, pale fingers.

"There was a survivor," Wu went on. "Ben Tennyson, he told us. Didn't saw much else – doesn't move much either. He's over there."

He pointed to a picnic table about twenty yards from the motorhome. A young boy sat at the table, his clothing stained with blood. He didn't respond as they headed for him, and only twitched slightly when Hank called his name.

"Hey," Nick tried, crouching in front of him so he could be in Ben's line of sight. "We need you to tell us what you know." Ben blinked, and shifted slightly so he seemed to be facing them both.

But even then, his eyes were blank, and he absently picked at the dried blood on his arms. "I don't know what happened," he said, in as blank a voice. "I didn't see anything."

Nick had a feeling the boy was telling the truth, but not all of it. He narrowed his eyes, but nothing changed – Ben still looked the same, still a little boy who couldn't seem to look away from the crime scene.

"Did you know the victims?" Hank asked, and Ben visibly flinched. He hunched smaller, and after a long minute, nodded.

"They're– they _were_ ," his breath hitched, and his hands tugged at his hair, "my grandpa and my cousin."

Nick shared a look with his partner and Hank grimaced. It was always hard with children, but when there was a family connection? That was worse. Nick stood, and was relieved when Ben's eyes followed him.

"Do you have any other family you can call? Parents maybe?" he asked.

"Bellwood," Ben muttered, looking away again. "They live in Bellwood. Illinois. Carl and Sandra."

Nick jotted it down. "Do you have their numbers?"

Ben numbly reached into his pocket, pulled out and unlocked his phone, then handed it over. He didn't look up at all, and Nick gazed at him sadly. Ben was obviously effected by this, more so than anyone else would be, and that cemented his suspicions.

Nick scrolled through Ben's contacts and noted down both parents cellphones, and their home phone, as well as Ben's number. Then he hesitated. Before he could talk himself out of it, he opened the Gallery app.

Most of the photos were a collection of selfies, some with just Ben, some with his cousin. A lot were evidence of pranks, with the girl either scowling at her cousin or in the act of attacking him. Ben was almost always laughing, and Nick had a hard time connecting the boy in the pictures with the boy sitting at the picnic table.

He closed the program, feeling slightly guilty, and gave Ben his phone. The boy took it with limp hands, and slipped it back into his pocket.

"Where will I go?" he wondered quietly.

"Until our investigation ends, you'll stay with a foster family," Hank told him. "Your parents will probably come here once they hear the news, and you'll go home with them."

Ben nodded. Nick squeezed his shoulder, but he'd stopped responding, his eyes drawn to the motorhome, even though by now the bodies had been covered. Nick knew they wouldn't be getting anything else from Ben, and headed over to examine the scene.

"This one feels different," Hank murmured. Nick glanced at him, then back to Ben.

"Something tells me you might be right," he said, and left it at that.

* * *

An hour later, they were back at the precinct, Hank walking ahead while Nick stayed at Ben's side. They'd need to get an official statement from him, but that could be done later. For now...

"Ben?" Nick asked in a hushed voice, his hand gripping the boy's shoulder. Ben stopped and looked up at him. "I'd like to talk to you, if that's alright?"

Ben hesitated, then nodded. His shoulder was tense under Nick's hand as he lead them to an empty interrogation room. They sat on the same side of the table, to make it feel less like an interrogation, but Ben wouldn't look at him, eyes roaming the room instead.

"I think," Nick started slowly, "that there's something else going on here." Ben stilled, and his gaze was stuck on the floor. "And I think you know what that something is."

Nick paused, but continued when Ben made no move to speak. "I won't tell anyone. Everything you tell me will be off the record. I just want to know what happened."

"I–" Ben croaked, and reached up to rub his face. His hands were still covered in blood, and he pulled them away with a stricken expression. He dropped them again, and sneaked a glance at Nick. Then, he pulled up his left sleeve.

On his wrist was a large watch with a band that almost looked molded to the skin. The watch face didn't look like any Nick had ever seen – and after spending as much time with Monroe as he had, he knew watches. This was round but digital, and displayed a green hourglass, bordered with white. There was something about it that caught Nick's attention, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what this "sixth sense" was telling him.

"What is that?" Nick wondered, finally tearing his eyes away from it. Ben smiled weakly, and covered it again.

"It's called the Omnitrix," he whispered. Nick had never heard of it, but it looked like Ben had suspected that. "It lets me, um. Okay, this is the part where I start to sound crazy," Ben warned.

"I think I can handle a little crazy," Nick told him, lips tugging upwards. Ben searched his face for a moment, then nodded.

"The watch lets me transform into different types of aliens," he said with complete seriousness. "About eighteen different ones."

Nick blinked. Then he nodded. Surprise bled into Ben's expression, and it was the most alive he'd looked since they'd met. "You believe me?" he asked.

"Yes I do," Nick said, and his smiled wryly. "I've seen my own share of strange things. Aliens aren't that much of a jump."

"What kind of strange things?" Ben wondered, leaning forward. His eyes were wide, and Nick started speaking before he could other think it. If it helped Ben come back to himself, Nick would let this secret go. Ben had given up his own, after all. And besides, Nick had already told Hank, and tried to tell Juliette, and it was getting easier with each repetition.

"I'm a Grimm," Nick said, his voice automatically hushed. "I can see people how they really are. There are some who are... different from the rest. They call themselves Wesen."

"And what's a _vessen_?" Ben asked, the word unfamiliar on his tongue.

"Do you know about the Grimm Brothers?" Nick asked. Ben nodded readily enough – he was a boy, and if he was going to read _fairytales_ , he was going to read the gruesome ones. "They wrote about the Wesen. Beings like Blutbad – the "big bad wolf". And others; Fuchsbau, Königschlange, Hexenbiests. They're all real, and I'm one of the few people who can see them."

"Wow," Ben muttered. "That sounds kind of delusional, but hey, I can't really talk, can I?" he chuckled weakly. He glanced back down, and caught sight of his hands. The tiny smile he wore fell, and he looked sick. "Is there somewhere I can wash this off?" he requested, tone just shy of begging.

"Right," Nick said, standing. He lead them down the hall to the mens, which was thankfully empty, and Ben spent a good half hour scrubbing. The blood was washed away after a few minutes, but Nick suspected it was more of an emotional act than physical.

He'd had his own share of long showers, after all. Being a cop – being a Grimm – wasn't anywhere near easy.

When Ben was done, they returned to Nick's desk. Hank looked up from his conversation with the woman sitting in the guest chair. "Hey Nick. Ben. This is Ms Kidler, she's with Child Services."

"I have a place for you to stay until your parents get here," she told Ben, smiling in the kind but patronizing way Nick was unfortunately familiar with. Ben frowned. But he nodded, sparing one last glance at Nick as he and the woman left the room.

Nick dropped into his chair with a sigh. Ignoring Hank's look, he flipped through his notes, and dialed the home number he'd gotten from Ben. It connected on the third ring.

"Carl Tennyson?" he confirmed. "This is Detective Burkhardt of the Portland PD. I have some bad news."

* * *

Ben lay on his borrowed bed and stared at the ceiling. He couldn't sleep, didn't even want to try, and this was the only alternative. Nice as this family was, they weren't Grandpa Max, and even their little twin girls weren't anything like Gwen.

No one could be like them. Because they were gone, they were _dead_ , and it was all Ben's fault. If he hadn't been so obsessed with this stupid watch, if he'd waited until Grandpa Max came back, if he'd _known_ what that alien would do–

A quiet, generic ringtone broke his building panic attack, and Ben twisted to grab his phone. He didn't recognize the number, but the ringtone had already given that away, and Ben had a hunch about who it was.

"Hello?" he answered.

"I hope I didn't wake you up," the detective from earlier responded. Ben shrugged though he knew the man couldn't see him. Actually, about that.

"You know, I never got your name," Ben said, and he could almost hear the man's surprise.

"You didn't? Sorry. Nick Burkhardt. You can call me Nick if you want."

"Great," Ben muttered. "Why did you call me?" he asked a bit louder, and the second he asked, his stomach sank.

"About that..." Nick said slowly. "I wanted to know what really happened. You weren't telling the whole truth earlier."

Ben closed his eyes. Yeah, he thought so.

"I said the watch had different aliens on it," he started. "Usually it's still me when I turn into one. The most recent one... wasn't."

"Ah."

"Yeah." Ben swallowed harshly. "I don't remember much. It was like I was asleep, or just waking up. Nothing really stuck. I don't even know what I was."

"It's fine," Nick said, stopping him before he started rambling – or apologizing or crying, both were possible right now in the dark where no one could see him. "Off the record, remember?" Nick told him, and Ben nodded, his throat tight. He heard Nick flounder for something else to say, but the conversation had died. So he settled on a quiet "goodnight" and hung up.

Ben dropped his cell on the bedside table, and rolled over. If the pillow was damp in the morning, no one said anything about it.


End file.
